


What Do You Think of Me?

by blondekaspbrak



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Awkward Richie Tozier, Canon Divergent, Everybody Lives, Fix-it fic, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love Confession, M/M, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondekaspbrak/pseuds/blondekaspbrak
Summary: “M’gonna go for a quick smoke. You wanna join me, Eds?” Eddie hates cigarettes. He hates the smell n’ what they do to people n’ if he’d ever tried one, probably the taste of them, too. He wishes Richie wasn’t a smoker, hopes he hasn’t been one for too long at the very least. Though, he faintly remembers Richie smoking with Bev as children, he’s not too sure if that’s a real memory or something he conjured up himself. The past is still foggy.He hates cigarettes, n’ yet, “Yeah, I'll go with you, Rich.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33
Collections: Writers Revolution Secret Santa 2020





	What Do You Think of Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunBug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunBug/gifts).



> so this is my gift to pema (@sunbug) for a secret santa event! i hope i was able to write something short and sweet for you to enjoy, happy holidays!! <3

“What do you think of him, Eddie?” The words become louder as the sentence progresses, n’ so does the trickling of the water circling him. It’s Mike, he’ll never forget any of their voices again.

Sure enough, he turns n’ Mike is there, tipping his chin towards the opposite end of the lake. “Think of who, Mikey?” Though, he supposes he knows who of the four conversing in their line of sight Mike is talking about. Maybe in the back of his mind, he knows.

“Richie. What do you think of him?” Mike is better than sarcasm, though he’s embarrassed about being asked such a thing, he’s grateful that Mike decides to spell it out for him rather than making a funny face at him. Perhaps Mike understands his reluctance.

He blinks slowly, looking back to Mike as his chest clenches momentarily, “That’s a strange question.”

Mike chuckles, nodding a little, “I know, but I think it’s worth asking. Don’t you?” It could easily be a teasing question, but he knows it isn’t. He turns in a circle, trying to pinpoint each of the losers. Relieved, he notes that they’re all distracted, swimming or talking to one another, tired yet high on adrenaline. “I’m not tryin’ to corner you, Eddie, you don’t have to talk about it. I jus’… I thought I saw something back there.”

“I— no, I, uh—“ He sighs, embarrassed under Mike’s gaze. “Richie’s… he’s great. Rowdy, but he always has been, s’nothing new. He’s a good friend.” Mike stays quiet, “He cares about me. He didn’t want to leave me down there, I’m alive because of him. I’m grateful to him.” His eyes drift once more, n’ look back to Richie, thick curls n’ clunky glasses n’ all.

Richie has a moustache. It was a little jarring to see him with one when the losers first united again, it makes him look matured. Spending five minutes with him clears up that misconception; only partly he supposes because Richie does indeed appear to live a secure life. He n’ Richie haven’t spoken in twenty seven years, so really, he wasn’t expecting anything of his appearance, but when Richie showed up at the restaurant he couldn’t help thinking to himself that this wasn’t what he was anticipating. Something in his chest urges him to reach out n’ brush his thumb over Richie’s upper lip.

“Is that all?” Mike asks under his breath, perhaps he’s also conscious of the others hearing. 

Eddie struggles for words, unsure of why the thought that yes, that’s all he thinks of Richie, makes his stomach knot up. He doesn’t say much. He thinks to take his glasses from where they’re situated on top of his head, amongst his dandelion curls, n’ fiddle with them while he thinks, but he supposes that the new lack of a second hand would make that harder. He should be at the hospital right now, he realises briefly. The messy cauterisation of his wound is adequate enough to have saved him, but he needs proper medical attention. Funnily enough, he can’t bring himself to make a fuss.

“Listen, Eddie, I know m’probably the last person who should be giving advice on things like this, but I can say that you shouldn’t waste any more time. I know that much.” Mike reaches for him beneath the surface of the water n’ catches his forearm, grip ginger. The skin-on-skin contact suddenly has Eddie very aware of the fact that he left his overshirt on the grass over there, he hopes there’s no mud on it. “It’s so lucky that we’re all still here, y’know? I think we need to make the most of it.” 

Eddie worries at his lower lip, finally cracking a small smile. “I suppose you’re right, Mikey.” Mike nods, satisfied, “I, uh, I think I’ll go talk to those guys. Thank you. Y’know, for this n’, well, everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I’d do it all again. Now go talk to him.” Eddie doesn’t comment on the fact that he refers only to one person.

He wades slowly through the lake, fingers gliding just over the surface of the water as he watches it crest against the cliff sides in the distance. “Hey, guys.” He looks up to Stan n’ Richie—both taller than him significantly—with a smile to offer.

Richie reacts first, immediately going to throw an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, though careful of his wound, n’ messing up his hair a little. “Hiya spaghetti, how ya doin’? How’s it feel being a lean-newly-one-armed-machine?” Eddie remembers him crying in the cistern only half an hour ago.

“You’re such a dork, Richie.” He shoves gently at his side, but makes no real effort to push him away. Richie seems pleased about it. “S’fine, thank you. S’weird but it’s better than the alternative, right?” Stan nods, chuckling a little. 

“We’ll need to get you to the hospital at some point today, Eddie.” Stan says, brow furrowing a little in what Eddie recognises as concern. 

He hums in agreement, “Yeah, I guess I will. I’ll need to call Myra soon, too.” Richie’s arm tightens around him a little at the mention of his wife. Neither him nor Stan say anything.

“M’gonna go for a quick smoke. You wanna join me, Eds?” Eddie hates cigarettes. He hates the smell n’ what they do to people n’ if he’d ever tried one, probably the taste of them, too. He wishes Richie wasn’t a smoker, hopes he hasn’t been one for too long at the very least. Though, he faintly remembers Richie smoking with Bev as children, he’s not too sure if that’s a real memory or something he conjured up himself. The past is still foggy.

He hates cigarettes, n’ yet, “Yeah, I'll go with you, Rich.” 

“Swell, we’ll be back soon, Stanny.” Richie moves away from him and together they venture to the lakeside, clumsily climbing out of the water and onto the grass. Neither of them put on their over shirts n’ jackets, they’ll be back in the lake in fifteen minutes anyways. He watches Richie carefully fish his pack of cigarettes n’ a lighter out of his jacket pocket, pruned fingers dampening the pack a little.

They find a rock, not too far from the lake’s edge, but hidden from its view by a cluster of trees. “Sit with me, spaghetti man, I don’t bite.” Richie groans a little as he sits down—reminding Eddie that they’re no longer young, though he supposes he still feels like they are—n’ pats the space next to him on the rock. Eddie goes to him, sitting fairly close as the rock’s mass doesn’t allow for much room between them. He watches Richie slide a cigarette between his lips n’ hold it there while he ignites the flame on the end of his lighter against the cigarette. 

Once it’s lit, he slides the lighter back into his pocket for the time being n’ throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again lazily. It’s completely silent on both ends, only the splashes of water n’ chatter from the losers muffled by the distance. Just this once, he lets himself lean into Richie, just a little. He thinks it makes him feel more than Myra’s made him feel throughout their entire marriage. “I, uh, I wanna say thank you, Rich.”

“What for, Eddie m’love?” 

“You saved me. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t convinced the others to stay n’ help me.” He shrugs, says it like he wasn’t on the brink of death merely forty minutes ago. 

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up, like he wasn’t expecting Eddie to say that, “Well, of course, Eds. How would I get by knowing that I had so many more chucks to give you? Would’ve been such a lost opportunity.” Richie pats his shoulder, careful not to make contact with Eddie’s wound. Eddie leans his head back a little more against Richie’s shoulder.

“I really do mean it, Rich.”

“I know, Eds.”

“I don’t want to go back to New york.”

“Oh.” Richie squints, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, “Why not?”

“I need to get a divorce.” He watches Richie’s eyebrows shoot up beneath his curls, “I decided when I got here the other day. I’m not happy.” He looks up at him, finding Richie to be looking through the trees towards the lake. “What do you think?”

He turns back to Eddie, thoughtful, “I think that you need to make yourself happy, Eddie. If you’re not happy with the wife, chuck her.” He grins, patting Eddie’s head this time, probably a substitute for ruffling his hair since it’s wet n’ slicked back at the moment. “You got a plan? Y’know, for what you’re gonna do if you’re not going back to New York?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ll book a hotel room somewhere, preferably far from Myra, while I figure out what to do. I think I wanna sell my company.” 

“Oh? Ya got another career aspiration in mind, do ya? Hope ya don’t need two hands for it.” Eddie rolls his eyes, nudging Richie with his elbow.

“You never rest, do you?” Richie grins, shaking his head n’ jostling Eddie with his arm, “I think I wanna fix up cars, I used to do maintenance on Myra’s car whenever it needed it. I’m good at it, I might open a mechanics.” He’ll need to adjust to life as an amputee before he even thinks of doing that, he notes, absent-minded. Maybe he’ll try to get a prosthetic.

“That sounds swell, Eds. Betcha’d be a cute mechanic.” He flushes, casting his gaze elsewhere as Richie no doubt watches on, smug. “So you’re lookin’ to try new things, good ol’ mid life crisis, eh?” Eddie shrugs, coy, “Well, if ya need a place to stay until ya figure things out, I’ve got a guest bedroom.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, “In California?” Richie hums, nodding, “Really?” He feels his stomach turn over n’ his chest seize up subtly, n’ he suddenly wishes for his aspirator. It’s at home with Myra, in his bedside drawer n’ as much as he wants it, he’ll let it collect dust. If he was able to survive today, he’ll survive tomorrow without it, n’ the next day, n’ the next.

“Well of course, spaghetti. Any chance to spend more time with my best Eddie is a good one.” Richie seems to tire of the cigarette, reaching over to put it out on the side of the rock. It’s a relief, even if Richie had been making a point of blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of Eddie anyway. Now, he leans into Eddie a little more, seems less awkward. “Whaddya think? Ya up for it? Rich n’ Eds in California, newly traumatised n’ amidst a mid-life crisis!” He goes into his forties-radio-announcer voice, the one that some twenty seven years ago didn’t sound all that different from Richie’s own voice.

Eddie pauses for a few moments, then lets out a breathe n’ a chuckle, “Alright, Rich, sure. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible, though, promise.” Richie cheers, hugging him from the side, shaking his head.

“No worries, Eds, I’m not in a hurry to kick ya to the curb. It’ll be fun, yeah?” He leans down, smacking a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, turning his face erubescent, he’ll be lucky if Richie can’t feel the heat from his skin. Maybe, though, he thinks, it’s time to take a chance again, even if only for a moment. So he kisses Richie’s cheek, too. He never has, never imagined he would, but he does. It’s just for a moment, n’ pulls back with a little smile, something in him pleased that for once, Richie is speechless. “Yowza, Eds. Never done that before.”

“S’is it okay that I did?” Richie appears to have sobered a little, nodding slowly.

“Well sure it is, spaghetti. I don’t mind. I don't mind at all.” Richie removes his arm from around his shoulders n’ shifts to face him more directly. “Do you?” He shakes his head, staying quiet. Nothing but the wind n’ the birds now; briefly, he thinks of bird watching with Stan as a child, wishing he could fly too. He still wishes he could. Richie looks him in the eye, perhaps for sign of discomfort, Eddie’s not sure what to expect next, n’ lays a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. His other hand comes to Eddie’s cheek, n’ he pinches it gently, much like he had done most days in their youth. “What a cutie. I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Me too, Rich.” He decides to go for a hug, hesitation getting the better of him. Wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, he pulls them, somewhat urgently, together. Richie laughs, probably out of surprise, but embraces him too, n’ despite the breeze chilling them through their wet clothes, it’s warm. The hug isn’t long lasting, perhaps only thirty seconds long, but when they let go of each other, they don’t make it very far. “Eds, would ya mind if I...?”

“I don’t mind.” They both titter quietly in the space between them, n’ it feels normal. Despite the near death experience n’ the clown n’ the literal loss of a limb, everything, in this moment, is normal. It’s okay.

Eddie leans in first, much to Richie’s surprise, evident by the noise he makes against Eddie’s lips before he relaxes n’ kisses him back. It’s not much, barely well done on his end; it only just occurs to him how little time he has spent kissing his wife; it’s not perfect in any manner but he doesn’t think he’d change it for anything. The first thing Richie says when their lips depart is, “Neat.” Of course it is.

Eddie hums quietly in agreement, faux thoughtful, “I think you’re right, it _was_ neat.” Richie looks pleased. Everything goes quiet as they move apart, but Richie still makes sure to clasp his hand around Eddie’s. Maybe a few minutes goes by before Eddie thinks the losers must be wondering where they went off to. “We should get back.”

“Righto, Eds.” Richie stands up, dusting himself off, though it doesn’t make much of a difference since his clothes are wet n’ everything sticks to them. Eddie takes his hand n’ they walk back down the path, back down to their friends. They don’t say anything as their hands part, only simper to themselves as they climb back into the water, back to the real world. Eddie doesn't fret, he doesn’t have to ‘cause there is more time, there will always be more time. He has tomorrow, n’ many tomorrows after.


End file.
